I’d always assumed my first glimpse of Texel after so many years would be a significant moment. I pictured the island hovering above the Wadden Sea like a fabled mirage conjured from the mists of my imagination. I saw myself leaning against the rail, watching clumps of seafoam break apart in the ferry’s wake as each rolling wave brought me closer to my old life. It turned out there was barely time to grab a drink in the cafeteria and find a seat before the captain’s voice came over the loudspeaker, warning travellers to return to their vehicles and prepare to disembark. The glass atrium emptied as people shuffled towards the exits. I stayed where I was, draining the last dregs of lukewarm coffee from my paper cup. I was grateful for the caffeine, weak as it was. The train from Amsterdam to Den Hoorn had been packed with commuters but I’d managed to find a seat and catch some sleep. Bram had promised to collect me from the marina when the ferry docked, barring some delay like a big lunch order from the crew working on the new road between Oudeschild and Oosterend. He’d promised not to touch the dress or the other items again until I arrived and passed on my instructions to the others. If the items did need to be moved for some reason, they should use gloves. As Liam had said when he finally returned my call before I boarded my flight, even disposable ones from the supermarket were better than nothing.

‘Sorry.’ Liam had sounded slightly breathless, as if he’d just run up three flights of stairs. ‘Just got back to Glasgow. I was in London. God, but it’s grim here. The plane was delayed on the tarmac for hours, not even an announcement. You should see where I’m staying. They’re renovating the staff living quarters so they’ve stuck me in a leaky flat just outside campus that hasn’t seen daylight or fresh air in about ten years. But they’ve reallocated my teaching units for the rest of the year to allow me to work on the book so I suppose I can’t complain. How are you, anyway? Keeping busy? And how’s your book going? Any bites? The university publishers wanted to dumb mine down. They said the text was too dense and erudite for Joe Everyman to be able to understand. Bullshit. They were just looking for an excuse to mass-market it. Can you imagine my book on the Father’s Day displays next to all those crime thrillers and biographies of Winston Churchill? I told them to get stuffed.’

‘The book’s fine,’ I said. ‘That wasn’t why I called. I have a proposal for you. I’m looking for a business partner, someone who can collaborate with me on a potentially ground-breaking discovery.’